The Maid-At-Arms by Robert W. Chambers

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THE

MAID-AT-ARMS

A Novel

By

Robert W. Chambers

Illustrated by

Howard Chandler Christy

1902

TO

MISS KATHARINE HUSTED

PREFACE

After a hundred years the history of a great war waged by a successfulnation is commonly reviewed by that nation with retrospectivecomplacency.

Distance dims the panorama; haze obscures the ragged gaps in the pageantuntil the long lines of victorious armies move smoothly across thehorizon, with never an abyss to check their triumph.

Yet there is one people who cannot view the past through a mirage. Themarks of the birth-pangs remain on the land; its struggle for breath wastoo terrible, its scars too deep to hide or cover.

For us, the pages of the past turn all undimmed; battles, brutallyetched, stand clear as our own hills against the sky--for in this landwe have no haze to soften truth.

Treading the austere corridor of our Pantheon, we, too, come at last tovictory--but what a victory! Not the familiar, gracious goddess,wide-winged, crowned, bearing wreaths, but a naked, desperate creature,gaunt, dauntless, turning her iron face to the west.

The trampling centuries can raise for us no golden dust to cloak theflanks of the starved ranks that press across our horizon.

Our ragged armies muster in a pitiless glare of light, every mandistinct, every battle in detail.

Pangs that they suffered we suffer.

The faint-hearted who failed are judged by us as though they failedbefore the nation yesterday; the brave are re-enshrined as we read; thetraitor, to us, is no grotesque Guy Fawkes, but a living Judasof to-day.

We remember that Ethan Allen thundered on the portal of all earthlykings at Ticonderoga; but we also remember that his hatred for the greatstate of New York brought him and his men of Vermont perilously close tothe mire which defiled Charles Lee and Conway, and which engulfed poorBenedict Arnold.

We follow Gates's army with painful sympathy to Saratoga, and there weapplaud a victory, but we turn from the commander in contempt, hisbrutal, selfish, shallow nature all revealed.

We know him. We know them all--Ledyard, who died stainless, with his ownsword murdered; Herkimer, who died because he was not brave enough to dohis duty and be called a coward for doing it; Woolsey, the craven Majorat the Middle Fort, stammering filthy speeches in his terror when SirJohn Johnson's rangers closed in; Poor, who threw his life away forvanity when that life belonged to the land! Yes, we know themall--great, greater, and less great--our grandfather Franklin, whotrotted through a perfectly cold and selfishly contemptuous Frenchcourt, aged, alert, cheerful to the end; Schuyler, calm andimperturbable, watching the North, which was his trust, and utterlyunmindful of self or of the pack yelping at his heels; Stark, Morgan,Murphy, and Elerson, the brave riflemen; Spencer, the interpreter;Visscher, Helmer, and the Stoners.

Into our horizon, too, move terrible shapes--not shadowy or lurid, butliving, breathing figures, who turn their eyes on us and hold out theirbutcher hands: Walter Butler, with his awful smile; Sir John Johnson,heavy and pallid--pallid, perhaps, with the memory of his brokenparole; Barry St. Leger, the drunken dealer in scalps; Guy Johnson,organizer of wholesale murder; Brant, called Thayendanegea, brave,terrible, faithful, but--a Mohawk; and that frightful she-devil, CatrineMontour, in whose hot veins seethed savage blood and the blood of agovernor of Canada, who smote us, hip and thigh, until the brawlingbrooks of Tryon ran blood!

No, there is no illusion for us; no splendid armies, banner--laden,passing through unbroken triumphs across the sunset's glory; no wingedvictory, with smooth brow laurelled to teach us to forget the holocaust.Neither can we veil our history, nor soften our legends. Romance alonecan justify a theme inspired by truth; for Romance is more vital thanhistory, which, after all, is but the fleshless skeleton of Romance.

"YOU'RE MY COUSIN, GEORGE ORMOND, OR I'M THE FATTEST LIAR SOUTH OFMONTREAL!".

"SHE SUFFERED US TO SALUTE HER HAND".

"NOW LOOSE ME--FOR THE FOREST ENDS!".

"THIS IS THE END, O YOU WISE MEN AND SACHEMS!".

"JACK MOUNT LOOMED A COLOSSAL FIGURE IN HIS BEADED BUCKSKINS".

"INSTANTLY MOUNT TRIPPED THE MAN".

"A STRANGE SHYNESS SEEMED TO HOLD US APART".

THE MAID-AT-ARMS

I

THE ROAD TO VARICKS'

We drew bridle at the cross-roads; he stretched his legs in hisstirrups, raised his arms, yawned, and dropped his huge hands uponeither thigh with a resounding slap.

"Well, good-bye," he said, gravely, but made no movement to leave me.

"Do we part here?" I asked, sorry to quit my chance acquaintance of theJohnstown highway.

He nodded, yawned again, and removed his round cap of silver-fox fur toscratch his curly head.

"We certainly do part at these cross-roads, if you are bound forVaricks'," he said.

I waited a moment, then thanked him for the pleasant entertainment hiscompany had afforded me, and wished him a safe journey.

"A safe journey?" he repeated, carelessly. "Oh yes, of course; safejourneys are rare enough in these parts. I'm obliged to you for thethought. You are very civil, sir. Good-bye."

Yet neither he nor I gathered bridle to wheel our horses, but sat therein mid-road, looking at each other.

"My name is Mount," he said at length; "let me guess yours. No, sir!don't tell me. Give me three sportsman's guesses; my hunting-knifeagainst the wheat straw you are chewing!"

"With pleasure," I said, amused, "but you could scarcely guess it."

"Your name is Varick?"

I shook my head.

"Butler?"

"No. Look sharp to your knife, friend."

"Oh, then I have guessed it," he said, coolly; "your name is Ormond--andI'm glad of it."

"Why are you glad of it?" I asked, curiously, wondering, too, at hisknowledge of me, a stranger.

"You will answer that question for yourself when you meet your kin, theVaricks and Butlers," he said; and the reply had an insolent ring thatdid not please me, yet I was loath to quarrel with this boyish giantwhose amiable company I had found agreeable on my long journey through aland so new to me.

"My friend," I said, "you are blunt."

"Only in speech, sir," he replied, lazily swinging one huge leg over thepommel of his saddle. Sitting at ease in the sunshine, he opened hisfringed hunting-shirt to the breeze blowing.

"So you go to the Varicks?" he mused aloud, eyes slowly closing in thesunshine like the brilliant eyes of a basking lynx.

"Do you know the lord of the manor?" I asked.

"Who? The patroon?"

"I mean Sir Lupus Varick."

"Yes; I know him--I know Sir Lupus. We call him the patroon, though he'snot of the same litter as the Livingstons, the Cosbys, the Phillipses,Van Rensselaers, and those feudal gentlemen who juggle with the highjustice, the middle, and the low--and who will juggle no more."

"Am I mistaken," said I, "in taking you for a Boston man?"

"In one sense you are," he said, opening his eyes. "I was born inVermont."

"Then you are a rebel?"

"Lord!" he said, laughing, "how you twist our English tongue! 'Tis hisMajesty across the waters who rebels at our home-made Congress."

"Is it not dangerous to confess such things to a stranger?" I asked,smiling.

His bright eyes reassured me. "Not to all strangers," he drawled,swinging his free foot over his horse's neck and settling his bulk onthe saddle. One big hand fell, as by accident, over the pan of his longrifle. Watching, without seeming to, I saw his forefinger touch thepriming, stealthily, and find it dry.

"You are no King's man," he said, calmly.

"Oh, do you take me for a rebel, too?" I demanded.

"No, sir; you are neither the one nor the other--like a tadpole withlegs, neither frog nor pollywog. But you will be."

"Which?" I asked, laughing.

"My wisdom cannot draw that veil for you, sir," he said. "You may takeyour chameleon color from your friends the Varicks and remain gray, orfrom the Butlers and turn red, or from the Schuylers and turn blueand buff."

"You credit me with little strength of character," I said.

"I credit you with some twenty-odd years and no experience."

"With nothing more?"

"Yes, sir; with sincerity and a Spanish rifle--which you may have needof ere this month of May has melted into June."

I glanced at the beautiful Spanish weapon resting across my pommel.

"What do you know of the Varicks?" I asked, smiling.

"More than do you," he said, "for all that they are your kin. Look atme, sir! Like myself, you wear deer-skin from throat to ankle, and yournose is ever sniffing to windward. But this is a strange wind to you.You see, you smell, but your eyes ask, 'What is it?' You are a woodsman,but a stranger among your own kin. You have never seen a living Varick;you have never even seen a partridge."

"Your wisdom is at fault there," I said, maliciously.

"Have you seen a Varick?"

"No; but the partridge--"

"Pooh! a little creature, like a gray meadow-lark remoulded! You call itpartridge, I call it quail. But I speak of the crested thunder--drummingcock that struts all ruffed like a Spanish grandee of ancient times.Wait, sir!" and he pointed to a string of birds' footprints in the dustjust ahead. "Tell me what manner of creature left its mark there?"

I leaned from my saddle, scanning the sign carefully, but the bird thatmade it was a strange bird to me. Still bending from my saddle, I heardhis mocking laugh, but did not look up.

"You wear a lynx-skin for a saddle-cloth," he said, "yet that lynx neversqualled within a thousand miles of these hills."

"Do you mean to say there are no lynxes here?" I asked.

"Plenty, sir, but their ears bear no black-and-white marks. Pardon, I donot mean to vex you; I read as I run, sir; it is my habit."

"So you have traced me on a back trail for a thousand miles--fromhabit," I said, not exactly pleased.

"A thousand miles--by your leave."

"Or without it."

"Or without it--a thousand miles, sir, on a back trail, through foreststhat blossom like gigantic gardens in May with flowers sweeter than ourwhite water-lilies abloom on trees that bear glossy leaves the yearround; through thickets that spread great, green, many-fingered hands atyou, all adrip with golden jasmine; where pine wood is fat as bacon;where the two oaks shed their leaves, yet are ever in foliage; where thethick, blunt snakes lie in the mud and give no warning when they dealdeath. So far, sir, I trail you, back to the soil where your babyfingers first dug--soil as white as the snow which you are yet to seefor the first time in your life of twenty-three years. A land wherethere are no hills; a land where the vultures sail all day withoutflapping their tip-curled wings; where slimy dragon things watch fromthe water's edge; where Greek slaves sweat at indigo-vats that drawvultures like carrion; where black men, toiling, sing all day on thesea-islands, plucking cotton-blossoms; where monstrous horrors, hornlessand legless, wallow out to the sedge and graze like cattle--"

"Man! You picture a hell!" I said, angrily, "while I come fromparadise!"

"It is jasmine!" I muttered, and my throat tightened with a homesickspasm.

"It is the last of the arbutus," he said, dropping his voice to a gentlemonotone. "This is New York province, county of Tryon, sir, and yonderbird trilling is not that gray minstrel of the Spanish orange-tree,mocking the jays and the crimson fire-birds which sing 'Peet! peet!'among the china-berries. Do you know the wild partridge-pea of the pinebarrens, that scatters its seeds with a faint report when the pods aretouched? There is in this land a red bud which has burst thundering intocrimson bloom, scattering seeds o' death to the eight winds. And everyseed breeds a battle, and every root drinks blood!"

"If I know a man when I see him, I know you," he said. "God save ourcountry, friend, upon this sweet May day."

"Amen, sir," I replied, tingling. "And God save the King the whole yearround!"

"Yes," he repeated, with a disagreeable laugh, "God save the King; he ispast all human aid now, and headed straight to hell. Friend, let us partere we quarrel. You will be with me or against me this day week. I knewit was a man I addressed, and no tavern-post."

"Yet this brawl with Boston is no affair of mine," I said, troubled."Who touches the ancient liberties of Englishmen touches my country,that is all I know."

"Which country, sir?"

"Greater Britain."

"And when Greater Britain divides?"

"It must not!"

"It has."

I unbound the scarlet handkerchief which I wore for a cap, and held itbetween my fingers to dry its sweat in the breeze. Watching itflutter, I said:

"Friend, in my country we never cross the branch till we come to it, norleave the hammock till the river-sands are beneath our feet. Nohunting-shirt is sewed till the bullet has done its errand, nor do menfish for gray mullet with a hook and line. There is always time to prayfor wisdom."

"Friend," replied Mount, "I wear red quills on my moccasins, you wearbits of sea-shell. That is all the difference between us. Good-bye.Varick Manor is the first house four miles ahead."

He wheeled his horse, then, as at a second thought, checked him andlooked back at me.

"You will see queer folk yonder at the patroon's," he said. "You areaccustomed to the manners of your peers; you were bred in that landwhere hospitality, courtesy, and deference are shown to equals; wheredignity and graciousness are expected from the elders; where duty andhumility are inbred in the young. So is it with us--except where you aregoing. The great patroon families, with their vast estates, theirpatents, their feudal systems, have stood supreme here for years. Theirsis the power of life and death over their retainers; they reign absolutein their manors, they account only to God for their trusts. And they aregreat folk, sir, even yet--these Livingstons, these Van Rensselaers,these Phillipses, lords of their manors still; Dutch of descent,polished, courtly, proud, bearing the title of patroon as a noble bearshis coronet."

He raised his hand, smiling. "It is not so with the Varicks. They arepatroons, too, yet kin to the Johnsons, of Johnson Hall and Guy Park,and kin to the Ormond-Butlers. But they are different from eitherJohnson or Butler--vastly different from the Schuylers or theLivingstons--"

He shrugged his broad shoulders and dropped his hand: "The Varicks areall mad, sir. Good-bye."

He struck his horse with his soft leather heels; the animal bounded outinto the western road, and his rider swung around once more towards mewith a gesture partly friendly, partly, perhaps, in menace. "Tell SirLupus to go to the devil!" he cried, gayly, and cantered away throughthe golden dust.

I sat my horse to watch him; presently, far away on the hill's crest,the sun caught his rifle and sparkled for a space, then the point ofwhite fire went out, and there was nothing on the hill-top save thedust drifting.

Lonelier than I had yet been since that day, three months gone, when Ihad set out from our plantation on the shallow Halifax, which thehammock scarcely separates from the ocean, I gathered bridle withlistless fingers and spoke to my mare. "Isene, we must be movingeastward--always moving, sweetheart. Come, lass, there's grain somewherein this Northern land where you have carried me." And to myself,muttering aloud as I rode: "A fine name he has given to my cousins theVaricks, this giant forest-runner, with his boy's face and limbs ofiron! And he was none too cordial concerning the Butlers,either--cousins, too, but in what degree they must tell me, for Idon't know--"

The road entering the forest, I ceased my prattle by instinct, and againfor the thousandth time I sniffed at odors new to me, and scanned leafydepths for those familiar trees which stand warden in our Southernforests. There were pines, but they were not our pines, these feathery,dark-stemmed trees; there were oaks, but neither our golden water oaksnor our great, green-and-silver live-oaks. Little, pale flowers bloomedeverywhere, shadows only of our bright blossoms of the South; and therare birds I saw were gray and small, and chary of song, as though thestillness that slept in this Northern forest was a danger not to beawakened. Loneliness fell on me; my shoulders bent and my head hungheavily. Isene, my mare, paced the soft forest-road without a sound, soquietly that the squatting rabbit leaped from between her forelegs, andthe slim, striped, squirrel-like creatures crouched paralyzed as wepassed ere they burst into their shrill chatter of fright or anger, Iknow not which.

Had I a night to spend in this wilderness I should not know where tofind a palmetto-fan for a torch, where to seek light-wood for splinter.It was all new to me; signs read riddles; tracks were sealed books; theeast winds brought rain, where at home they bring heaven's own balm tous of the Spanish grants on the seaboard; the northwest winds that wedread turn these Northern skies to sapphire, and set bees a-humming onevery bud.

There was no salt in the air, no citrus scent in the breeze, no heavyincense of the great magnolia bloom perfuming the wilderness like acathedral aisle where a young bride passes, clouded in lace.

But in the heat a heavy, sweetish odor hung; balsam it is called, andmingled, too, with a faint scent like our bay, which comes from a woodybush called sweet-fern. That, and the strong smell of the bluish,short-needled pine, was ever clogging my nostrils and confusing me. OnceI thought to scent a 'possum, but the musky taint came from a rottinglog; and a stale fox might have crossed to windward and I not noticed,so blunted had grown my nose in this unfamiliar Northern world.

Musing, restless, dimly confused, and doubly watchful, I rode throughthe timber-belt, and out at last into a dusty, sunny road. Andstraightway I sighted a house.

The house was of stone, and large and square and gray, with only apillared porch instead of the long double galleries we build; and it hada row of windows in the roof, called dormers, and was surrounded by astockade of enormous timbers, in the four corners of which were setlittle forts pierced for rifle fire.

Noble trees stood within the fortified lines; outside, green meadowsringed the place; and the grass was thick and soft, and vivid as a greenjewel in color--such grass as we never see save for a spot here andthere in swampy places where the sun falls in early spring.

The house was yet a hundred rods away to the eastward. I rode on slowly,noticing the neglected fences on either hand, and thought that my cousinVarick might have found an hour to mend them, for his pride's sake.

Isene, my mare, had already scented the distant stables, and waspricking forward her beautiful ears as I unslung my broad hat of plaitedpalmetto and placed it on my head, the better to salute my hosts when Ishould ride to their threshold in the Spanish fashion we followedat home.

So, cantering on, I crossed a log bridge which spanned a ravine, belowwhich I saw a grist-mill; and so came to the stockade. The gate was openand unguarded, and I guided my mare through without a challenge from thesmall corner forts, and rode straight to the porch, where an ancientnegro serving-man stood, dressed in a tawdry livery too large for him.As I drew bridle he gave me a dull, almost sullen glance, and it was notuntil I spoke sharply to him that he shambled forward and descended thetwo steps to hold my stirrup.

"Is Sir Lupus at home?" I asked, looking curiously at this mute,dull-eyed black, so different from our grinning lads at home.

"Yaas, suh, he done come home, suh."

"Then announce Mr. George Ormond," I said.

He stared, but did not offer to move.

"Did you hear me?" I asked, astonished.

"Yaas, suh, I done hear yoh, suh."

I looked him over in amazement, then walked past him towards the door.

"Kaze Mars' Lupus done say he gwine kill de fustest man what 'sturb him,suh," continued the black man, in a listless monotone. "An' I spec' hegwine do it."

"Is Sir Lupus abed at this hour?" I asked.

"Yaas, suh."

There was no emotion in the old man's voice. Something made me thinkthat he had given the same message to visitors many times.

I was very angry at the discourtesy, for he must have known when toexpect me from my servant, who had accompanied me by water with my boxesfrom St. Augustine to Philadelphia, where I lingered while he wentforward, bearing my letter with him. Yet, angry and disgusted as I was,there was nothing for me to do except to swallow the humiliation, walkin, and twiddle my thumbs until the boorish lord of the manor waked togreet his invited guest.

"Feed my horse," I said, sullenly, and sat down on a settle, riflecradled between my knees, and in my heart wrath immeasurable against mykin the Varicks.

II

IN THE HALLWAY

So this was Northern hospitality! This a Northern gentleman's home, withits cobwebbed ceiling, its little window-panes opaque with stain of rainand dust, its carpetless floors innocent of wax, littered with odds andends--here a battered riding-cane; there a pair of tarnished spurs;yonder a scarlet hunting-coat a-trail on the banisters, with skirts allmud from feet that mayhap had used it as a mat in rainy weather!

I leaned forward and picked up the riding-crop; its cane end was cappedwith heavy gold. The spurs I also lifted for inspection; they werebeautifully wrought in silver.

Faugh! Here was no poverty, but the shiftlessness of a sot, tramplinggood things into the mire!

I looked into the fireplace. Ashes of dead embers choked it; theandirons, smoke-smeared and crusted, stood out stark against the sootymaw of the hearth.

Still, for all, the hall was made in good and even noble proportion;simple, as should be the abode of a gentleman; over-massive, perhaps,and even destitute of those gracious and symmetrical galleries which weof the South think no shame to take pride in; for the banisters werebrutally heavy, and the rail above like a rampart, and for a newel-postsome ass had set a bronze cannon, breech upward; and it was green andbeautiful, but offensive to sane consistency.

Standing, the better to observe the hall on all sides, it came to methat some one had stripped a fine English mansion of fine but ancientfurniture, to bring it across an ocean and through a forest for theembellishment of this coarse house. For there were pictures in framesshowing generals and statesmen of the Ormond-Butlers, one even of thegreat duke who fled to France; and there were pictures of the Varicksbefore they mingled with us Irish--apple-cheeked Dutchmen, cadaverousyouths bearing match-locks, and one, an admiral, with star and sashacross his varnish-cracked corselet of blue steel, looking at me withpale, smoky eyes.

Rusted suits of mail, and groups of weapons made into star shapes andcircles, points outward, were ranged between the heavy pictures, eachcentred with a moth-ravaged stag's head, smothered in dust.

As I slowly paced the panelled wall, nose in air to observe theseneglected trophies, I came to another picture, hung all alone near thewall where it passes under the staircase, and at first, for thedarkness, I could not see.

Imperceptibly the outlines of the shape grew in the gloom from a deep,rich background, and I made out a figure of a youth all cased in armorsave for the helmet, which was borne in one smooth, blue-veined hand.

The face, too, began to assume form; rounded, delicate, crowned with amass of golden hair; and suddenly I perceived the eyes, and they seemedto open sweetly, like violets in a dim wood.

"What Ormond is this?" I muttered, bewitched, yet sullen to see suchfeminine roundness in any youth; and, with my sleeve of buckskin, Irubbed the dust from the gilded plate set in the lower frame.

"The Maid-at-Arms," I read aloud.

Then there came to me, at first like the far ring of a voice scarcelyheard through southern winds, the faint echo of a legend told me ere mymother died--perhaps told me by her in those drifting hours of achildhood nigh forgotten. Yet I seemed to see white, sun-drenched sandsand the long, blue swell of a summer sea, and I heard winds in thepalms, and a song--truly it was my mother's; I knew it now--and, of asudden, the words came borne on a whisper of ancient melody:

"This for the deed she did at Ashby Farms, Helen of Ormond, Royal Maid-at-Arms!"

Memory was stirring at last, and the gray legend grew from the past, howa maid, Helen of Ormond, for love of her cousin, held prisoner in hisown house at Ashby-de-la-Zouch, sheared off her hair, clothed her limbsin steel, and rode away to seek him; and how she came to the house atAshby and rode straight into the gateway, forcing her horse to the greathall where her lover lay, and flung him, all in chains, across hersaddle-bow, riding like a demon to freedom through the Desmonds, hisenemies. Ah! now my throat was aching with the memory of the song, andof that strange line I never understood--"Wearing the ghost-ring!"--and,of themselves, the words grew and died, formed on my silent lips:

"This for the deed she did at Ashby Farms, Helen of Ormond, Royal Maid-at-Arms!

"Though for all time the lords of Ormond be Butlers to Majesty, Yet shall new honors fall upon her Who, armored, rode for love to Ashby Farms; Let this her title be: A Maid-at-Arms!

"Serene mid love's alarms, For all time shall the Maids-at-Arms, Wearing the ghost-ring, triumph with their constancy. And sweetly conquer with a sigh And vanquish with a tear Captains a trembling world might fear.

"This for the deed she did at Ashby Farms, Helen of Ormond, Royal Maid-at-Arms!"

Staring at the picture, lips quivering with the soundless words, suchwretched loneliness came over me that a dryness in my throat set megulping, and I groped my way back to the settle by the fireplace and satdown heavily in homesick solitude.

[Illustration: "I SAT DOWN HEAVILY IN HOMESICK SOLITUDE".]

Then hate came, a quick hatred for these Northern skies, and thesestrangers of the North who dared claim kin with me, to lure me northwardwith false offer of council and mockery of hospitality.

I was on my feet again in a flash, hot with anger, ready with insult tomeet insult, for I meant to go ere I had greeted my host--an insult,indeed, and a deadly one among us. Furious, I bent to snatch my riflefrom the settle where it lay, and, as I flung it to my shoulder,wheeling to go, my eyes fell upon a figure stealing down the stairwayfrom above, a woman in flowered silk, bare of throat and elbow, fingersscarcely touching the banisters as she moved.

She hesitated, one foot poised for the step below; then it fellnoiselessly, and she stood before me.

Anger died out under the level beauty of her gaze. I bowed, just as Icaught a trace of mockery in the mouth's scarlet curve, and bowed thelower for it, too, straightening slowly to the dignity her mischievouseyes seemed to flout; and her lips, too, defied me, all silently--nay,in every limb and from every finger-tip she seemed to flout me, and theslow, deep courtesy she made me was too slow and far too low, and herrecovery a marvel of plastic malice.

"My cousin Ormond?" she lisped;--"I am Dorothy Varick."

We measured each other for a moment in silence.

There was a trace of powder on her bright hair, like a mist of snow ongold; her gown's yoke was torn, for all its richness, and a wisp of lacein rags fell, clouding the delicate half-sleeve of China silk.

Her face, colored like palest ivory with rose, was no doll's face, forall its symmetry and a forgotten patch to balance the dimple in herrounded chin; it was even noble in a sense, and, if too chaste forsensuous beauty, yet touched with a strange and pensive sweetness, like'witched marble waking into flesh.

Suddenly a voice came from above: "Dorothy, come here!"

My cousin frowned, glanced at me, then laughed.

"Dorothy, I want my watch!" repeated the voice.

Still looking at me, my cousin slowly drew from her bosom a huge,jewelled watch, and displayed it for my inspection.

"We were matching mint-dates with shillings for father's watch; I wonit," she observed.

"Dorothy!" insisted the voice.

"Oh, la!" she cried, impatiently, "will you hush?"

"No, I won't!"

"Then our cousin Ormond will come up-stairs and give you what Paddy gavethe kettle-drum--won't you?" she added, raising her eyes to me.

"And what was that?" I asked, astonished.

Somebody on the landing above went off into fits of laughter; and, as Ireddened, my cousin Dorothy, too, began to laugh, showing an edge ofsmall, white teeth under the red lip's line.

"Are you vexed because we laugh?" she asked.

My tongue stung with a retort, but I stood silent. These Varicks mightforget their manners, but I might not forget mine.

She honored me with a smile, sweeping me from head to foot with herbright eyes. My buckskins were dirty from travel, and the thrums inrags; and I knew that she noted all these matters.

"Cousin," she lisped, "I fear you are something of a macaroni."

Instantly a fresh volley of laughter rattled from the landing--suchclear, hearty laughter that it infected me, spite my chagrin.

"He's a good fellow, our cousin Ormond!" came a fresh young voice fromabove.

"He shall be one of us!" cried another; and I thought to catch a glimpseof a flowered petticoat whisked from the gallery's edge.

I looked at my cousin Dorothy Varick; she stood at gaze, laughter in hereyes, but the mouth demure.

"Cousin Dorothy," said I, "I believe I am a good fellow, even thoughragged and respectable. If these qualities be not bars to your society,give me your hand in fellowship, for upon my soul I am nigh sick for awelcome from somebody in this unfriendly land."

Still at gaze, she slowly raised her arm and held out to me a fresh,sun-tanned hand; and I had meant to press it, but a sudden shynessscotched me, and, as the soft fingers rested in my palm, I raised themand touched them with my lips in silent respect.

"You have pretty manners," she said, looking at her hand, but notwithdrawing it from where it rested. Then, of an impulse, her fingersclosed on mine firmly, and she looked me straight in the eye.

"You are a good comrade; welcome to Varicks', cousin Ormond!"

Our hands fell apart, and, glancing up, I perceived a group of youthfulbarbarians on the stairs, intently watching us. As my eyes fell on themthey scattered, then closed in together defiantly. A red-haired lad ofseventeen came down the steps, offering his hand awkwardly.

"I'm Ruyven Varick," he said. "These girls are fools to bait men of ourage--" He broke off to seize Dorothy by the arm. "Give me that watch,you vixen!"

I protested that I did; and Dorothy, with mock empressement, presentedme to Cecile Butler, a slender, olive-skinned girl with pretty, darkeyes, who offered me her hand to kiss in such determined manner that Ibowed very low to cover my smile, knowing that she had witnessed mysalute to my cousin Dorothy and meant to take nothing less for herself.

"And those boys yonder are Harry Varick and Sam Butler, my cousins,"observed Dorothy, nonchalantly relapsing into barbarism to point themout separately with her pink-tipped thumb; "and that lad on the stairsis Benny. Come on, we're to throw hunting-knives for pennies. Canyou?--but of course you can."

I looked around at my barbarian kin, who had produced hunters' knivesfrom recesses in their clothing, and now gathered impatiently aroundDorothy, who appeared to be the leader in their collective deviltries.

"All the same, that watch is mine," broke out Ruyven, defiantly. "I'llleave it to our cousin Ormond--" but Dorothy cut in: "Cousin, it wasdone in this manner: father lost his timepiece, and the law is thatwhoever finds things about the house may keep them. So we all ran tothe porch where father had fallen off his horse last night, and I thinkwe all saw it at the same time; and I, being the older and stronger--"

"You're not the stronger!" cried Sam and Harry, in the same breath.

"I," repeated Dorothy, serenely, "being not only older than Ruyven by ayear, but also stronger than you all together, kept the watch, spite ofyour silly clamor--and mean to keep it."

"Then we matched shillings for it!" cried Cecile.

"It was only fair; we all discovered it," explained Dorothy. "But Ruyvenmatched with a Spanish piece where the date was under the reverse, andhe says he won. Did he, cousin?"

"We all mean to bear you company, Cousin," said Ruyven, cheerfully,patting my arm for my reassurance; and truly I lacked something ofassurance among these kinsmen of mine, who appeared to lack none.

"You spoke of me as Captain Ormond," I said, turning with a smile toDorothy.

"Oh, it's all one," she said, gayly; "if you're not a captain now, youwill be soon, I'll wager--but I'm not to talk of that before thechildren--"

"You may talk of it before me," said Ruyven. "Harry, take Benny and Samand Cecile out of earshot--"

"Pooh!" cried Harry, "I know all about Sir John's new regiment--"

"Will you hush your head, you little fool!" cut in Dorothy. "Servantsand asses have long ears, and I'll clip yours if you bray again!"

The jingling of glasses on a tray put an end to the matter; Cato, theblack, followed by two more blacks, entered the hall bearing silversalvers, and at a nod from Dorothy we all trooped after them.

"Guests first!" hissed Dorothy, in a fierce whisper, as Ruyven crowdedpast me, and he slunk back, mortified, while Dorothy, in a languidvoice and with the air of a duchess, drawled, "Your arm, cousin," andslipped her hand into my arm, tossing her head with a heavy-lidded,insolent glance at poor Ruyven.

And thus we entered the gun-room, I with Dorothy Varick on my arm, andbehind me, though I was not at first aware of it, Harry, gravelyconducting Cecile in a similar manner, followed by Samuel and Benny,arm-in-arm, while Ruyven trudged sulkily by himself.

III

COUSINS

There was a large, discolored table in the armory, or gun-room, as theycalled it; and on this, without a cloth, our repast was spread by Cato,while the other servants retired, panting and grinning like over-fathounds after a pack-run.

And, by Heaven! they lacked nothing for solid silver, my cousins theVaricks, nor yet for fine glass, which I observed without appearance ofvulgar curiosity while Cato carved a cold joint of butcher's roast andcracked the bottles of wine--a claret that perfumed the room like agarden in September.

Benny, deprived of his claret, collapsed moodily into a heap, and satswinging his legs and clipping the table, at every kick of his shoon,until my wine danced in my glass and soiled the table.

"Stop that, you!" cried Cecile.

Benny subsided, scowling.

Though Dorothy was at some pains to assure me that they had dined but anhour before, that did not appear to blunt their appetites. And themanner in which they drank astonished me, a glass of wine beingconsidered sufficient for young ladies at home, and a half-glass forlads like Harry and Sam. Yet when I emptied my glass Dorothy emptiedhers, and the servants refilled hers when they refilled mine, till Igrew anxious and watched to see that her face flushed not, but had myanxiety for my pains, as she changed not a pulse-beat for all the redwine she swallowed.

And Lord! how busy were her little white teeth, while her pretty eyesroved about, watchful that order be kept at this gypsy repast. Cecileand Harry fell to struggling for a glass, which snapped and flew toflakes under their clutching fingers, drenching them with claret.

"Big feet? Mine?" She bent, tore a satin shoe from her foot, and slappedit down on the table in challenge to all to equal it--a small,silver-buckled thing of Paddington's make, with a smart red heel and aslender body, slim as the crystal slipper of romance.

There was no denying its shapeliness; presently she removed it, and,stooping, slowly drew it on her foot.

"Is that the shoe Sir John drank your health from?" sneered Ruyven.

A rich flush mounted to Dorothy's hair, and she caught at her wine-glassas though to throw it at her brother.

"A married man, too," he laughed--"Sir John Johnson, the fat baronet ofthe Mohawks--"

"Damn you, will you hold your silly tongue?" she cried, and rose tolaunch the glass, but I sprang to my feet, horrified and astounded, armoutstretched.

"Ruyven," I said, sharply, "is it you who fling such a taunt to shameyour own kin? If there is aught of impropriety in what this man Sir Johnhas done, is it not our affair with him in place of a silly gibeat Dorothy?"

"I ask pardon," stammered Ruyven; "had there been impropriety in whatthat fool, Sir John, did I should not have spoke, but have acted longsince, Cousin Ormond."

"I'm sure of it," I said, warmly. "Forgive me, Ruyven."

"Oh, la!" said Dorothy, her lips twitching to a smile, "Ruyven only saidit to plague me. I hate that baronet, and Ruyven knows it, and harpsever on a foolish drinking-bout where all fell to the table, even WalterButler, and that slow adder Sir John among the first. And they do say,"she added, with scorn, "that the baronet did find one of my old shoonand filled it to my health--damn him!--"

"Dorothy!" I broke in, "who in Heaven's name taught you such shamefuloaths?"

"Oaths?" Her face burned scarlet. "Is it a shameful oath to say 'Damnhim'?"

"It is a common oath men use--not gentlewomen," I said.

"Oh! I supposed it harmless. They all laugh when I say it--father andGuy Johnson and the rest; and they swear other oaths--words I would notsay if I could--but I did not know there was harm in a goodsmart 'damn!'"

She leaned back, one slender hand playing with the stem of her glass;and the flush faded from her face like an afterglow from aserene horizon.

"I fear," she said, "you of the South wear a polish we lack."

"Best mirror your faults in it while you have the chance," said Harry,promptly.

"We lack polish--even Walter Butler and Guy Johnson sneer at us underfather's nose," said Ruyven. "What the devil is it in us Varicks thatset folk whispering and snickering and nudging one another? Am Iparti-colored, like an Oneida at a scalp-dance? Does Harry wear bat'swings for ears? Are Dorothy's legs crooked, that they all stare?"

"It's your red head," observed Cecile. "The good folk think to see thenoon-sun setting in the wood--"

"We are doubtless a little mad, ... as they say," she mused. "Otherwisewe seem to be like other folk. We have clothing befitting, when wechoose to wear it; we were schooled in Albany; we are people of quality,like the other patroons; we lack nothing for servants or tenants--whatails them all, to nudge and stare and grin when we pass?"

"Mr. Livingston says our deportment shocks all," murmured Cecile.

"The Schuylers will have none of us," added Harry, plaintively--"and Iadmire them, too."

"Oh, they all conduct shamefully when I go to school in Albany," burstout Sammy; "and I thrashed that puling young patroon, too, for he saw meand refused my salute. But I think he will render me my bow next time."

"Do the quality not visit you here?" I asked Dorothy.

"Visit us? No, cousin. Who is to receive them? Our mother is dead."

Cecile said: "Once they did come, but Uncle Varick had that mistress ofSir John's to sup with them and they took offence."

"Mrs. Van Cortlandt said she was a painted hussy--" began Harry.

"The Van Rensselaers left the house, vowing that Sir Lupus had used themshamefully," added Cecile; "and Sir Lupus said: 'Tush! tush! When theVan Rensselaers are too good for the Putnams of Tribes Hill I'll eat myspurs!' and then he laughed till he cried."

"And then everybody geths tight; they were here lath night and UncleVarick is sthill abed," said little Benny, innocently.

"Will you all hold your tongues?" cried Dorothy, fiercely. "Father saidwe were not to tell anybody that Sir John and the Ormond-Butlersvisited us."

"Why not?" I asked.

Dorothy clasped both hands under her chin, rested her bare elbows on thetable, and leaned close to me, whispering confidentially: "Because ofthe war with the Boston people. The country is overrun withrebels--rebel troops at Albany, rebel gunners at Stanwix, rebels atEdward and Hunter and Johnstown. A scout of ten men came here last week;they were harrying a war-party of Brant's Mohawks, and Stoner was withthem, and that great ox in buckskin, Jack Mount. And do you know what hesaid to father? He said, 'For Heaven's sake, turn red or blue, SirLupus, for if you don't we'll hang you to a crab-apple and chance thecolor.' And father said, 'I'm no partisan King's man'; and Jack Mountsaid, 'You're the joker of the pack, are you?' And father said, 'I'm notin the shuffle, and you can bear me out, you rogue!' And then Jack Mountwagged his big forefinger at him and said, 'Sir Lupus, if you're but ajoker, one or t'other side must discard you!' And they rode away,priming their rifles and laughing, and father swore and shook hiscane at them."

In her eagerness her lips almost touched my ear, and her breath warmedmy cheek.

"All that I saw and heard," she whispered, "and I know father toldWalter Butler, for a scout came yesterday, saying that a scout from theRangers and the Royal Greens had crossed the hills, and I saw some ofSir John's Scotch loons riding like warlocks on the new road, and thatgreat fool, Francy McCraw, tearing along at their head and crowinglike a cock."

"Cousin, cousin," I protested, "all this--all these names--even thecauses and the manners of this war, are incomprehensible to me."

"Oh," she said, in surprise, "have you in Florida not heard of our war?"

"Yes, yes--all know that war is with you, but that is all. I know thatthese Boston men are fighting our King; but why do the Indianstake part?"

She looked at me blankly, and made a little gesture of dismay.

"I see I must teach you history, cousin," she said. "Father tells usthat history is being made all about us in these days--and, would youbelieve it? Benny took it that books were being made in the woods allaround the house, and stole out to see, spite of the law thatfather made--"

"Who thaw me?" shouted Benny.

"Hush! Be quiet!" said Dorothy.

Benny lay back in his chair and beat upon the table, howling defiance athis sister through Harry's shouts of laughter.

"Silence!" cried Dorothy, rising, flushed and furious. "Is this acorn-feast, that you all sit yelping in a circle? Ruyven, hold thatdoor, and see that no one follows us--"

"I wish to discuss secrets with my cousin Ormond," said Dorothy,loftily, and stepped from her chair, nose in the air, and thatheavy-lidded, insolent glance which once before had withered Ruyven, andnow withered him again.

"We will go to the play-room," she whispered, passing me; "that room hasa bolt; they'll all be kicking at the door presently. Follow me."

Ere we had reached the head of the stairs we heard a yell, a rush offeet, and she laughed, crying: "Did I not say so? They are after us nowfull bark! Come!"

She caught my hand in hers and sped up the few remaining steps, thenthrough the upper hallway, guiding me the while her light feet flew; andI, embarrassed, bewildered, half laughing, half shamed to go a-racingthrough a strange house in such absurd a fashion.

"Here!" she panted, dragging me into a great, bare chamber and boltingthe door, then leaned breathless against the wall to listen as the chasegalloped up, clamoring, kicking and beating on panel and wall, baffled.

"They're raging to lose their new cousin," she breathed, smiling acrossat me with a glint of pride in her eyes. "They all think mightily ofyou, and now they'll be mad to follow you like hound-pups the whip, allday long." She tossed her head. "They're good lads, and Cecile is asweet child, too, but they must be made to understand that there aremoments when you and I desire to be alone together."

"Of course," I said, gravely.

"You and I have much to consider, much to discuss in these uncertaindays," she said, confidently. "And we cannot babble matters of import tothese children--"

"Don't mind him," said Dorothy, raising her voice for Ruyven's benefit."A lad who listens to his elders through a key-hole is not fit forserious--"

A heavy assault on the door drowned Dorothy's voice. She waited calmlyuntil the uproar had subsided.

"Let us sit by the window," she said, "and I will tell you how weVaricks stand betwixt the deep sea and the devil."

"I wish to come in!" shouted Ruyven, in a threatening voice. Dorothylaughed, and pointed to a great arm-chair of leather and oak. "I willsit there; place it by the window, cousin."

I placed the chair for her; she seated herself with unconscious grace,and motioned me to bring another chair for myself.

"Are you going to let me in?" cried Ruyven.

"Oh, go to the--" began Dorothy, then flushed and glanced at me, askingpardon in a low voice.

A nice parent, Sir Lupus, with every child in his family ready to swearlike Flanders troopers at the first breath!

Half reclining in her chair, limbs comfortably extended, Dorothy crossedher ankles and clasped her hands behind her head, a picture of indolencein every line and curve, from satin shoon to the dull gold of her hair,which, as I have said, the powder scarcely frosted.

"To comprehend properly this war," she mused, more to herself than tome, "I suppose it is necessary to understand matters which I do notunderstand; how it chanced that our King lost his city of Boston, andwhy he has not long since sent his soldiers here into our countyof Tryon."

"But this much, however, I do understand, that our province of New Yorkis the centre of all this trouble; that the men of Tryon hold the lastpennyweight, and that the balanced scales will tip only when we patroonscast in our fortunes, ... either with our King or with the rebelCongress which defies him. I think our hearts, not our interests, mustguide us in this affair, which touches our honor."

Such pretty eloquence, thoughtful withal, was not what I had looked forin this new cousin of mine--this free-tongued maid, who, like a paintedpeach-fruit all unripe, wears the gay livery of maturity, tricking theeye with a false ripeness.

"I have thought," she said, "that if the issues of this war depend onus, we patroons should not draw sword too hastily--yet not to sit likehouse-cats blinking at this world-wide blaze, but, in the full flood ofthe crisis, draw!--knowing of our own minds on which side liesthe right."

"Who taught you this?" I asked, surprised to over-bluntness.

"Who taught me? What? To think?" She laughed. "Solitude is a rare spurto thought. I listen to the gentlemen who talk with father; and I wouldgladly join and have my say, too, but that they treat me like a fool,and I have my questions for my pains. Yet I swear I am dowered with moresense than Sir John Johnson, with his pale eyes and thick, white flesh,and his tarnished honor to dog him like the shadow of a damned man soldto Satan--"

"Is he dishonored?"

"Is a parole broken a dishonor? The Boston people took him and placedhim on his honor to live at Johnson Hall and do no meddling. And nowhe's fled to Fort Niagara to raise the Mohawks. Is that honorable?"

After a moment I said: "But a moment since you told me that Sir Johncomes here."

She nodded. "He comes and gees in secret with young Walter Butler--oneof your Ormond-Butlers, cousin--and old John Butler, his father, Colonelof the Rangers, who boast they mean to scalp the whole of Tryon Countyere this blood-feud is ended. Oh, I have heard them talk and talk,drinking o' nights in the gun-room, and the escort's horses stamping atthe porch with a man to each horse, to hold the poor brutes' noses lestthey should neigh and wake the woods. Councils of war, they call them,these revels; but they end ever the same, with Sir John borne off to bedtoo drunk to curse the slaves who shoulder his fat bulk, and WalterButler, sullen, stunned by wine, a brooding thing of malice carved instone; and father roaring his same old songs, and beating time with hislong pipe till the stem snaps, and he throws the glowing bowl at Cato--"

"Dorothy, Dorothy," I said, "are these the scenes you find already toofamiliar?"

"Stale as last month's loaf in a ratty cupboard."

"Do they not offend you?"

"Oh, I am no prude--"

"Do you mean to say Sir Lupus sanctions it?"

"What? My presence? Oh, I amuse them; they dress me in Ruyven's clothesand have me to wine--lacking a tenor voice for their songs--and atfirst, long ago, their wine made me stupid, and they found rare sport inbaiting me; but now they tumble, one by one, ere the wine's fire touchesmy face, and father swears there is no man in County Tryon can keep ourcompany o' nights and show a steady pair of legs like mine to bear himbedwards."

After a moment's silence I said: "Are these your Northern customs?"

"They are ours--and the others of our kind. I hear the plain folk of thecountry speak ill of us for the free life we lead at home--I mean thePalatines and the canting Dutch, not our tenants, though what even theymay think of the manor house and of us I can only suspect, for they areall rebels at heart, Sir John says, and wear blue noses at the first runo' king's cider."

She gave a reckless laugh and crossed her knees, looking at me underhalf-veiled lids, smooth and pure as a child's.

"Food for the devil, they dub us in the Palatine church," she added,yawning, till I could see all her small, white teeth set in rose.

A nice nest of kinsmen had I uncovered in this hard, gray Northernforest! The Lord knows, we of the South do little penance for thepleasures a free life brings us under the Southern stars, yet suchlicense as this is not to our taste, and I think a man a fool to teachhis children to review with hardened eyes home scenes suited toa tavern.

Yet I was a guest, having accepted shelter and eaten salt; and I mightnot say my mind, even claiming kinsman's privilege to rebuke what seemedto me to touch the family honor.

Staring through the unwashed window-pane, moodily brooding on what I hadlearned, I followed impatiently the flight of those small, gray swallowsof the North, colorless as shadows, whirling in spirals above the coldchimneys, to tumble in like flakes of gray soot only to drift out again,wind--blown, aimless, irrational, senseless things. And again thathatred seized me for all this pale Northern world, where the very birdsgyrated like moon-smitten sprites, and the white spectre of virtue satamid orgies where bloodless fools caroused.

"Are you homesick, cousin?" she asked.

"Ay--if you must know the truth!" I broke out, not meaning to say myfill and ease me. "This is not the world; it is a gray inferno, whereshades rave without reason, where there is no color, no repose, nothingbut blankness and unreason, and an air that stings all living life tospasms of unrest. Your sun is hot, yet has no balm; your winds plaguethe skin and bones of a man; the forests are unfriendly; the waters allhurry as though bewitched! Brooks are cold and tasteless as the fog; theunsalted, spiceless air clogs the throat and whips the nerves till thevery soul in the body strains, fluttering to be free! How can decentfolk abide here?"

I hesitated, then broke into a harsh laugh, for my cousin sat staring atme, lips parted, like a fair shape struck into marble by a breathof magic.

"Pardon," I said. "Here am I, kindly invited to the council of a familywhose interests lie scattered through estates from the West Indies tothe Canadas, and I requite your hospitality by a rudeness I had notbelieved was in me."

I asked her pardon again for the petty outburst of an untravelledyoungster whose first bath in this Northern air-ocean had chilled hissenses and his courtesy.

"There is a land," I said, "where lately the gray bastions of St.Augustine reflected the gold and red of Spanish banners, and the bluesea mirrors a bluer sky. We Ormonds came there from the Western Indies,then drifted south, skirting the Matanzas to the sea islands on theHalifax, where I was born, an Englishman on Spanish soil, and have livedthere, knowing no land but that of Florida, treading no city streetssave those walled lanes of ancient Augustine. All this vast North is newto me, Dorothy; and, like our swamp-haunting Seminoles, my rustic'sinstinct finds hostility in what is new and strange, and I forget mybreeding in this gray maze which half confuses, half alarms me."

"I am not offended," she said, smiling, "only I wonder what you finddistasteful here. Is it the solitude?"

"No, for we also have that."

"Is it us?"

"Not you, Dorothy, nor yet Ruyven, nor the others. Forget what I said.As the Spaniards have it, 'Only a fool goes travelling,' and I'm not toonotorious for my wisdom, even in Augustine. If it be the custom of thepeople here to go mad, I'll not sit in a corner croaking, 'Repent andbe wise!' If the Varicks and the Butlers set the pace, I promise you tokeep the quarry, Mistress Folly, in view--perhaps outfoot you all toBedlam!... But, cousin, if you, too, run this uncoupled race with thepack, I mean to pace you, neck and neck, like a keen whip, ready to turnand lash the first who interferes with you."

"With me?" she repeated, smiling. "Am I a youngster to be coddled andprotected? You have not seen our hunting. I lead, my friend;you follow."

She unclasped her arms, which till now had held her bright head cradled,and sat up, hands on her knees, grave as an Egyptian goddessguarding tombs.

"I'll wager I can outrun you, outshoot you, outride you, throw you atwrestle, cast the knife or hatchet truer than can you, catch more fishthan you--and bigger ones at that!"

With an impatient gesture, peculiarly graceful, like the half-salute ofa friendly swordsman ere you draw and stand on guard:

"Read the forest with me. I can outread you, sign for sign, track fortrack, trail in and trail out! The forest is to me Te-ka-on-do-duk [theplace with a sign-post]. And when the confederacy speaks with fivetongues, and every tongue split into five forked dialects, I make noanswer in finger-signs, as needs must you, my cousin of theSe-a-wan-ha-ka [the land of shells]. We speak to the Iroquois with ourlips, we People of the Morning. Our hands are for our rifles! Hiro [Ihave spoken]!"

She laughed, challenging me with eye and lip.

"And if you defy me to a bout with bowl or bottle I will not turncoward, neah-wen-ha [I thank you]! but I will drink with you and let myfather judge whose legs best carry him to bed! Koue! Answer me, mycousin, Tahoontowhe [the night hawk]."

We were laughing now, yet I knew she had spoken seriously, and to plagueher I said: "You boast like a Seminole chanting the war-song."

"I dare you to cast the hatchet!" she cried, reddening.

"Dare me to a trial less rude," I protested, laughing the louder.

"No, no! Come!" she said, impatient, unbolting the heavy door; and,willy-nilly, I followed, meeting the pack all sulking on the stairs, whorose to seize me as I came upon them.

"Let him alone!" cried Dorothy; "he says he can outcast me with thewar-hatchet! Where is my hatchet? Sammy! Ruyven! find hatchets and cometo the painted post."

Cecile and Sammy hastened up, bearing in their arms the slimwar-hatchets, cased in holsters of bright-beaded hide, and we took ourweapons and started, piloted by Harry through the door, and across theshady, unkempt lawn to the stockade gate.

Dorothy and I walked side by side, like two champions in amiable confabbefore a friendly battle, intimately aloof from the gaping crowd whichfollows on the flanks of all true greatness.

Out across the deep-green meadow we marched, the others trailing oneither side with eager advice to me, or chattering of contests past,when Walter Butler and Brant--he who is now war-chief of the loyalMohawks--cast hatchets for a silver girdle, which Brant wears still; andthe patroon, and Sir John, and all the great folk from Guy Park werehere a-betting on the Mohawk, which, they say, so angered Walter Butlerthat he lost the contest. And that day dated the silent enmity betweenBrant and Butler, which never healed.

This I gathered amid all their chit-chat while we stood under thewillows near the spring, watching Ruyven pace the distance from the postback across the greensward towards us.

Then, making his heel-mark in the grass, he took a green willow wand andset it, all feathered, in the turf.

"Is it fair for Dorothy to cast her own hatchet?" asked Harry.

"Give me Ruyven's," she said, half vexed. Aught that touched her senseof fairness sent a quick flame of anger to her cheeks which I admired.

"Keep your own hatchet, cousin," I said; "you may have need of it."

"Give me Ruyven's hatchet," she repeated, with a stamp of her foot whichRuyven hastened to respect. Then she turned to me, pink with defiance:

"It is always a stranger's honor," she said; so I advanced, drawing mylight, keen weapon from its beaded sheath, which I had belted round me;and Ruyven took station by the post, ten paces to the right.

The post was painted scarlet, ringed with white above; below, inoutline, the form of a man--an Indian--with folded arms, also drawn inwhite paint. The play was simple; the hatchet must imbed its blade closeto the outlined shape, yet not "wound" or "draw blood."

"Brant at first refused to cast against that figure," said Harry,laughing. "He consented only because the figure, though Indian, waspainted white."

I scarce heard him as I stood measuring with my eyes the distance. Then,taking one step forward to the willow wand, I hurled the hatchet, and itlanded quivering in the shoulder of the outlined figure on the post.

"A wound!" cried Cecile; and, mortified, I stepped back, biting my lip,while Harry notched one point against me on the willow wand and Dorothy,tightening her girdle, whipped out her bright war-axe and steppedforward. Nor did she even pause to scan the post; her arm shot up, thekeen axe-blade glittered and flew, sparkling and whirling, biting intothe post, chuck! handle a-quiver. And you could not have laid a Junewillow-leaf betwixt the Indian's head and the hatchet's blade.

She turned to me, lips parted in a tormenting smile, and I praised thecast and took my hatchet from Ruyven to try once more. Yet again I brokeskin on the thigh of the pictured captive; and again the glistening axeleft Dorothy's hand, whirring to a safe score, a grass-stem's width fromthe Indian's head.

I understood that I had met my master, yet for the third time strove;and my axe whistled true, standing point-bedded a finger's breadth fromthe cheek.

"Can you mend that, Dorothy?" I asked, politely.

She stood smiling, silent, hatchet poised, then nodded, launching theaxe. Crack! came the handles of the two hatchets, and rattled together.But the blade of her hatchet divided the space betwixt my blade and thepainted face, nor touched the outline by a fair hair's breadth.

Astonishment was in my face, not chagrin, but she misread me, for thetriumph died out in her eyes, and, "Oh!" she said; "I did not mean towin--truly I did not," offering her hands in friendly amend.

But at my quick laugh she brightened, still holding my hands, regardingme with curious eyes, brilliant as amethysts.

"I was afraid I had hurt your pride--before these silly children--" shebegan.

"Done!" she flashed, then, all in a breath, smiled adorably and shookher head. "No, I'll not bet. He could win if he chose. We understandeach other, my cousin Ormond and I," and gave my hands a little friendlyshake with both of hers, then dropped them to still Ruyven's clamorfor a wager.

"For a jest, silly! There were no bets. Now frown and vapor and wag yourfinger--do! What do you lack? I will wrestle you if you wait until I donmy buckskins. No? A foot-race?--and I'll bet you your ten shillings onmyself! Ten to five--to three--to one! No? Then hush your silly head!"

"Because," said Ruyven, sullenly, coming up to me, "she can outrun mewith her long legs, she gives herself the devil's own airs and graces.There's no living with her, I tell you. I wish I could go to the war."

"You'll have to go when father declares himself," observed Dorothy,quietly polishing her hatchet on its leather sheath.

"But he won't declare for King or Congress," retorted the boy.

"Wait till they start to plague us," murmured Dorothy. "Some fine Julyday cows will be missed, or a barn burned, or a shepherd found scalped.Then you'll see which way the coin spins!"

"Which way will it spin?" demanded Ruyven, incredulous yet eager.

"Ask that squirrel yonder," she said, briefly.

"Thanks; I've asked enough of chatterers," he snapped out, and came tothe tree where we were sitting in the shadow on the cool, thick carpetof the grass--such grass as I had never seen in that fair Southlandwhich I loved.

The younger children gathered shyly about me, their active tonguessuddenly silent, as though, all at once, they had taken a sudden alarmto find me there.

The reaction of fatigue was settling over me--for my journey had been along one that day--and I leaned my back against the tree and yawned,raising my hand to hide it.

"Your boxes are in the hallway by your bed-chamber," said Dorothy. "Yourservant went to Johnstown for news of you--let me see--I think it wasSaturday--"

"Friday," said Ruyven, looking up from the willow wand which he waspeeling.

"He never came back," observed Dorothy. "Some believe he ran away toAlbany, some think the Boston people caught him and impressed him towork on the fort at Stanwix."

I felt my face growing hot.

"I should like to know," said I, "who has dared to interfere with myservant."

"So should I," said Ruyven, stoutly. "I'd knock his head off." Theothers stared. Dorothy, picking a meadow-flower to pieces, smiledquietly, but did not look up.

"What do you think has happened to my black?" I asked, watching her.

"I think Walter Butler's men caught him and packed him off to FortNiagara," she said.

"Why do you believe that?" I asked, angrily.

"Because Mr. Butler came here looking for boat-men; and I know he triedto bribe Cato to go. Cato told me." She turned sharply to the others."But mind you say nothing to Sir Lupus of this until I choose totell him!"

"Have you proof that Mr. Butler was concerned in the disappearance of myservant?" I asked, with an unpleasant softness in my voice.

"No proof," replied Dorothy, also very softly.

"Then I may not even question him," I said.

"No, you can do nothing--now."

I thought a moment, frowning, then glanced up to find them all intentlywatching me.

"I should like," said I, "to have a tub of clean water and freshclothing, and to sleep for an hour ere I dress to dine with Sir Lupus.But, first, I should like to see my mare, that she is well bedded and--"

"I'll see to her," said Dorothy, springing to her feet. "Ruyven, do youtell Cato to wait on Captain Ormond." And to Harry and Cecile: "Bowl onthe lawn if you mean to bowl, and not in the hallway, while our cousinis sleeping." And to Benny: "If you tumble or fall into any foolishness,see that you squall no louder than a kitten mewing. Our cousin means tosleep for a whole hour."

As I rose, nodding to them gravely, all their shy deference seemed toreturn; they were no longer a careless, chattering band, crowding at myelbows to pluck my sleeves with, "Oh, Cousin Ormond" this, and "Listen,cousin," that; but they stood in a covey, close together, a trifle awedat my height, I suppose; and Ruyven and Dorothy conducted me with a newceremony, each to outvie the other in politeness of language anddeportment, calling to my notice details of the scenery in stiltedphrases which nigh convulsed me, so that I could scarce control the setgravity of my features.

At the house door they parted company with me, all save Ruyven andDorothy. The one marched off to summon Cato; the other stood silent, herhead a little on one side, contemplating a spot of sunlight on thedusty floor.

"About young Walter Butler," she began, absently; "be not too short andsharp with him, cousin."

"I hope I shall have no reason to be too blunt with my own kin," I said.

"You may have reason--" She hesitated, then, with a pretty confidence inher eyes, "For my sake please to pass provocation unnoticed. None willdoubt your courage if you overlook and refuse to be affronted."

"An Ormond-Butler," she said, earnestly; "but--but he has had trouble--aterrible disappointment in love, they say. He is morose at times--asullen, suspicious man, one of those who are ever seeking for offencewhere none is dreamed of; a man quick to give umbrage, quicker to resenta fancied slight--a remorseless eye that fixes you with the passionlessmenace of a hawk's eye, dreamily marking you for a victim. He is cruelto his servants, cruel to his animals, terrible in his hatred of theseBoston people. Nobody knows why they ridiculed him; but they did. Thatadds to the fuel which feeds the flame in him--that and the brooding onhis own grievances--"

She moved nearer to me and laid her hand on my sleeve. "Cousin, the manis mad; I ask you to remember that in a moment of just provocation. Itwould grieve me if he were your enemy--I should not sleep for thinking."

"Dorothy," I said, smiling, "I use some weapons better than I do thewar-axe. Are you afraid for me?"

She looked at me seriously. "In that little world which I know there ismuch that terrifies men, yet I can say, without boasting, there is not,in my world, one living creature or one witch or spirit that Idread--no, not even Catrine Montour!"

"And who is Catrine Montour?" I asked, amused at her earnestness.

Ere she could reply, Ruyven called from the stairs that Cato had my tubof water all prepared, and she walked away, nodding a brief adieu,pausing at the door to give me one sweet, swift smile offriendly interest.

IV

SIR LUPUS

I had bathed and slept, and waked once more to the deep, resonant notesof a conch-shell blowing; and I still lay abed, blinking at the sunsetthrough the soiled panes of my western window, when Cato scraped at thedoor to enter, bearing my sea-boxes one by one.

Reaching behind me, I drew the keys from under my pillow and tossed themto the solemn black, lying still once more to watch him unlock my boxesand lay out my clothes and linen to the air.

"Come, Cato," I remonstrated, "am I dressing for a ball at Augustine,that you stand there pulling my finery about to choose and pick? I tellyou to give me a sober suit!" I snatched a flowered robe from the bed'sfoot-board, pulled it about me, and stepped to the floor.

Cato brought a chair and bowl, and, when I had washed once more I seatedmyself while the old man shook out my hair, dusted it to its naturalbrown, then fell to combing and brushing. My hair, with its obstinateinclination to curl, needed neither iron nor pomade; so, silvering itwith my best French powder, he tied the short queue with a black ribbonand dusted my shoulders, critically considering me the while.

"A plain shirt," I said, briefly.

He brought a frilled one.

"I want a plain shirt," I insisted.

"Dishyere sho't am des de plaines' an' de--"

"You villain, don't I know what I want?"

"No, suh!"

And, upon my honor, I could not get that black mule to find me the shirtthat I wished to wear. More than that, he utterly refused to permit meto dress in a certain suit of mouse-color without lace, but actuallybundled me into the silver-gray, talking volubly all the while; and I,half laughing and wholly vexed, almost minded to go burrowing myselfamong my boxes and risk peppering silk and velvet with hair-powder.

But he dressed me as it suited him, patting my silk shoes into shape,smoothing coat-skirt and flowered vest-flap, shaking out the lace onstock and wrist with all the delicacy and cunning of a lady's-maid.

"Idiot!" said I, "am I tricked out to please you?"

"You sho' is, Cap'in Ormond, suh," he said, the first faint approach toa grin that I had seen wrinkling his aged face. And with that he hungmy small-sword, whisked the powder from my shoulders with a bit ofcambric, chose a laced handkerchief for me, and, ere I couldremonstrate, passed a tiny jewelled pin into my powdered hair, where itsparkled like a frost crystal.

I drew a deep, quivering breath. Home seemed so far, and the old slavewould never live to see it. I felt as though this steel-cold North heldme, too, like a trap--never to unclose.

"Cato," I said, abruptly, "let us go home."

He understood; a gleam of purest joy flickered in his eyes, then diedout, quenched in swelling tears.

He wept awhile, standing there in the centre of the room, smearing thetears away with the flapping sleeves of his tarnished livery, while,like a committed panther, I paced the walls, to and fro, to and fro,heart aching for escape.

The light in the west deepened above the forests; a long, glowing crackopened between two thunderous clouds, like a hint of hidden hell, firingthe whole sky. And in the blaze the crows winged, two and two, likewitches flying home to the infernal pit, now all ablaze and kindlingcoal on coal along the dark sky's sombre brink.

Then the red bars faded on my wall to pink, to ashes; a fleck of rosycloud in mid-zenith glimmered and went out, and the round edges of theworld were curtained with the night.

Behind me, Cato struck flint and lighted two tall candles; outside thelawn, near the stockade, a stable-lad set a conch-horn to his lips,blowing a deep, melodious cattle-call, and far away I heard themcoming--tin, ton! tin, ton! tinkle!--through the woods, slowly, slowly,till in the freshening dusk I smelled their milk and heard them lowingat the unseen pasture-bars.

I turned sharply; the candle-light dazzled me. As I passed Cato, the oldman bowed till his coat-cuffs hung covering his dusky, wrinkled fingers.

"When we go, we go together, Cato," I said, huskily, and so passed onthrough the brightly lighted hallway and down the stairs.

Candle-light glimmered on the dark pictures, the rusted circles of arms,the stags' heads with their dusty eyes. A servant in yellow livery,lounging by the door, rose from the settle as I appeared and threw openthe door on the left, announcing, "Cap'm Ormond!" in a slovenly fashionwhich merited a rebuke from somebody.

The room into which the yokel ushered me appeared to be a library, lowof ceiling, misty with sour pipe smoke, which curled and floated level,wavering as the door closed behind me.

Through the fog, which nigh choked me with its staleness, I perceived abulky gentleman seated at ease, sucking a long clay pipe, his bulginglegs cocked up on a card-table, his little, inflamed eyes twinkling redin the candle-light.

[Illustration: "YOU'RE MY COUSIN, GEORGE ORMOND, OR I'M THE FATTEST LIARSOUTH OF MONTREAL!".]

"Captain Ormond?" he cried. "Captain be damned; you're my cousin, GeorgeOrmond, or I'm the fattest liar south of Montreal! Who the devil put 'emup to captaining you--eh? Was it that minx Dorothy? Dammy, I took itthat the old Colonel had come to plague me from his grave--your father,sir! And a cursed fine fellow, if he was second cousin to a Varick,which he could not help, not he!--though I've heard him damn his luck tomy very face, sir! Yes, sir, under my very nose!"

He fell into a fit of fat coughing, and seized a glass ofspirits-and-water which stood on the table near his feet. The draughtallayed his spasm; he wiped his broad, purple face, chuckled, tossed offthe last of the liquor with a smack, and held out a mottled, fat hand,bare of wrist-lace. "Here's my heart with it, George!" he cried. "I'dstand up to greet you, but it takes ten minutes for me to find thesefeet o' mine, so I'll not keep you waiting. There's a chair; fill itwith that pretty body of yours; cock up your feet--here's a pipe--here'ssnuff--here's the best rum north o' Norfolk, which that ass Dunmore laidin ashes to spite those who kicked him out!"

He squeezed my hand affectionately. "Pretty bird! Dammy, but you'llbreak a heart or two, you rogue! Oh, you are your father all over again;it's that way with you Ormonds--all alike, and handsome as that youngdevil Lucifer; too proud to be proud o' your dukes and admirals, and athousand years of waiting on your King. As lads together your fatherused to take me by the ear and cuff me, crying, 'Beast! beast! You eatand drink too much! An Ormond's heart lies not in his belly!' And Ikicked back, fighting stoutly for the crust he dragged me from. Dammy,why not? There's more Dutch Varick than Irish Ormond in me. Rememberthat, George, and we shall get on famously together, you and I. Forgetit, and we quarrel. Hey! fill that tall Italian glass for a toast. Igive you the family, George. May they keep tight hold on what is theirsthrough all this cursed war-folly. Here's to the patroons, Godbless 'em!"

Forced by courtesy to drink ere I had yet tasted meat, I did my partwith the best grace I could muster, turning the beautiful glassdownward, with a bow to my host.

"The same trick o' grace in neck and wrist," he muttered, thickly,wiping his lips. "All Ormond, all Ormond, George, like that vixen o'mine, Dorothy. Hey! It's not too often that good blood throws back; themongrel shows oftenest; but that big chit of a lass is no Varick; she'sOrmond to the bones of her. Ruyven's a red-head; there's red in the resto' them, and the slow Dutch blood. But Dorothy's eyes are like thosewild iris-blooms that purple all our meadows, and she has the Ormondhair--that thick, dull gold, which that French Ormond, of King Stephen'stime, was dowered with by his Saxon mother, Helen. Eh? You see, I readit in that book your father left us. If I'm no Ormond, I like to findout why, and I love to dispute the Ormond claim which Walter Butlermakes--he with his dark face and hair, and those dusky, golden eyes ofhis, which turn so yellow when I plague him--the mad wild-cat thathe is."

Another fit of choking closed his throat, and again he soaked it openwith his chilled toddy, rattling the stick to stir it well ere hedrained it at a single, gobbling gulp.

A faint disgust took hold on me, to sit there smothering in the fumes ofpipe and liquor, while my gross kinsman guzzled and gabbled andguzzled again.

"George," he gasped, mopping his crimsoned face, "I'll tell you now thatwe Varicks and you Ormonds must stand out for neutrality in this war.The Butlers mean mischief; they're mad to go to fighting, and that meansour common ruin. They'll be here to-night, damn them."

"Sir Lupus," I ventured, "we are all kinsmen, the Butlers, the Varicks,and the Ormonds. We are to gather here for self-protection during thisrebellion. I am sure that in the presence of this common danger therecan arise no family dissension."

"Yes, there can!" he fairly yelled. "Here am I risking life and propertyto persuade these Butlers that their interest lies in strictestneutrality. If Schuyler at Albany knew they visited me, his dragoonswould gallop into Varick Manor and hang me to my barn door! Here am I, Isay, doing my best to keep 'em quiet, and there's Sir John Johnson andall that bragging crew from Guy Park combating me--nay, would youbelieve their impudence?--striving to win me to arm my tenantry for thisKing of England, who has done nothing for me, save to make a knight ofme to curry favor with the Dutch patroons in New York province--orstate, as they call it now! And now I have you to count on for support,and we'll whistle another jig for them to-night, I'll warrant!"

He seized his unfilled glass, looked into it, and pushed it from himpeevishly.

"Dammy," he said, "I'll not budge for them! I have thousands of acres,hundreds of tenants, farms, sugar-bushes, manufactories for pearl-ash,